


Phenomenology

by miarr



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-01-27
Updated: 2010-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miarr/pseuds/miarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of radical empirical experiments conducted by one Medic, M.D., in the name of science.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. EXPERIMENT NO.001

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miraba](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Miraba).



> Quick-and-dirty birthday present for [Miraba](http://miraba.livejournal.com), who nine out of ten doctors agree is made of awesome. (And the tenth one is dead, so.) Unbeta'd. Warning: dub-con. Or rather, warning: Medic.

“Interesting,” said Medic, and adjusted the nipple clamps.

“Mother _fucker_,” Scout panted, or something like it; the gag was quite a good muffler and besides, he was not very coherent. His eyes looked glazed, dark and half-lidded, though physiologically speaking this could have been for any number of reasons. Medic had a suspicion the cloth had soaked up a small measure of chloroform. Not a lethal amount; merely enough to dull some of the pain. Regrettable, but not overly significant in the general course of events.

He ran a hand down Scout’s flat stomach and pressed two fingers against the femoral artery, adjacent the groin. His pulse was so fast that the heartbeats nearly blurred together, like the thrumming of a high-caliber engine. Scout gave a small gasp, hips bucking, and clenched his hands in their bindings. His thighs trembled beneath Medic’s glove.

_Responsive_, Medic noted, though he didn’t pause to write it down. The procedure was strictly empirical. Scout was shaking all over in tiny, shuddering spasms, flushed and sweating, groaning low in his throat. The restraints stretched him out on the examination bed, arms spread wide and feet tied to a spreader bar above head level for better access. It had been quite a stroke of luck, to find the old thing in his stock. Medic wasn’t sure how efficient the arrangement would have been otherwise.

It was _superbly_ efficient now. He took hold of the vibrator, buzzing steadily, and pushed it deeper, thrusting in then out—a strong rhythm, granting no quarter. Scout actually _keened_, high and needy, like an animal pushed beyond its limits.

_Fascinating_.

When he finally released the cock ring, Scout climaxed immediately and messily, all over his stomach and Medic’s hand. He made several noises, similarly muffled by the gag, and by the time it was over could only lie slack in his bonds, shivering, though with less intensity than previously evinced. His heart rate took some time to return to normal levels, and even then he remained flushed, most distinctly in areas of the neck and face.

It was quite an attractive sight, in all frankness; certainly more appealing than Scout’s usual idiocy. A compelling instance of medicinal examination, as well. Medic undid the restraints—though he left the gag, along with the clamps—and made a note to induce the condition more frequently in the future.


	2. EXPERIMENT NO.002

The next time, Medic took care to keep away unwanted substances and sterilized all his instruments beforehand. As expected, without chloroform Scout retained a greater deal of his sensory perception, as well as increased awareness of his surroundings. Consequentially, he responded much more directly to stimulus.

“You freakin’ son of a bitch,” he said, and strained against the bonds. Medic had foregone the gag in favor of obtaining more verbal input; he had confidence things would not get too loud. Behind him was a syringe with a sedative, just in case, but this was a perfunctory caution and had slim likelihood of actually being used.

At the present moment both heart rate and breathing were normal, though Scout was already flushed a bright red. Presumably this was an inherent predisposition.

“If you vould stop struggling, please,” Medic said, looking up from double-checking the last of his listed variables. It was critical to maintain detailed records of the procedures, to avoid later unexplained discrepancies in the data. “Ze restraints are quite sound, and you vill only tire yourself.”

“I could do that,” Scout replied. “_Or_, here’s a thought! You could untie me, you sick fuck.”

“Name-calling vill get you nowhere,” Medic said calmly. “And ze shackles are more for your protection zan mine.” This was not strictly true, since Scout chained down was generally safer for _everybody_, and spared Medic from having to deal with his thrashing. Besides, the visual had a certain aesthetic value which Medic thought was important to incorporate in his work. True men of science recognized that beauty and knowledge were closely linked.

There was much knowledge to be gleaned from these experiments. Medic swabbed the inside of Scout’s elbow, stretched facing upwards on the examination cot, then picked up a particular syringe. Scout’s eyes widened with recognition: he was already familiar with it from their previous sessions.

“Aw, shit,” he said. “Not this again. Why can’t you have sex like a normal person instead of sticking that freakin’ crap in my—”

His breath hitched loudly as Medic injected him with the formula, directly to the cubital vein. It was the same spot he’d used last time—luckily, needle marks showed up strongly on Scout’s skin. Then Medic stepped back, activated his pre-set timer, and very carefully observed.

By fourteen seconds, Scout already began showing signs of quickened breathing, more blood rising to his skin. By thirty-nine seconds his struggles had increased markedly and he was making breathless, frustrated sounds, flushing all over. By forty-one seconds he had taken to rubbing against the bedding, bordering on desperation, and sweating more profusely than room temperature allowed for. No more than one minute and six-point-two seconds after the initial injection, Scout’s penis reached a fully erect state—and, as a nice touch, he’d accidentally let slip “_Medic, please“_ in between gratuitous cursing and insults to Medic’s national heritage.

Medic stopped the timer and set it aside. Still over the one-minute mark, but his compounds were undeniably effective, and distillation seemed to be having the desired effect. Perhaps the next batch would be the final variant—then he would have produced the first chemical aphrodisiac powerful enough to trigger complete arousal in less than sixty seconds. A gratifying medical achievement.

“Come _on_, doc,” Scout whined, and Medic looked him over: lying naked on the cot, fists clenched and legs drawn up, tensed as though to start running. His cock was hard, curving up against his lower abdomen, and his ass bare to the world. He stared at Medic with a mix of hatred and arousal. “Do something, shit, willya just _do something _already—”

“Very vell,” Medic allowed. Far be it from him to cause any delays in the plan.

The current experiment dealt with the issue of respiratory distress in conditions of heightened physical tension. After affixing the cock ring (to which Scout barely protested anymore—classic Pavlovian training, Medic was proud to say) it was time to bring out the newest contraption.

He’d calculated the dimensions of Scout’s neck earlier, and adjusted the markings on the leather accordingly. As expected, the strap nestled in the hollow of his throat when loose, but rose up at the slightest twitch of the chain. Medic was pleased with the final results. The slip-on collar had been used to train the Rottweilers guarding his previous clinic, but was quite easily re-purposed. He had to make sure not to apply unnecessary pressure except in short intervals, but aside from the imminent danger of strangulation everything was fine.

Scout made some half-hearted remonstrations throughout, mostly using words like 'fucked up’ and 'pervert’, but when Medic inserted the first slick finger into his ass, Scout let his head fall back against the cot and moaned, low and rough and wavering.

Latex gloves did not allow for optimal sensory transmission, but he could feel Scout’s _tightness_, the clenching of his muscles and the way his stomach quivered, as if holding in a breath. His breathing was unimpaired—Medic could hear the short, harsh pants from his mouth—but his posture belied significant nervous energy.

“Take a deep breath,” Medic reminded him when he prepared the vibrator and nestled it right against Scout’s hole, already slick. “I do not vant you hyperventilating—not yet.”

Scout shot him a suspicious look, but then Medic pushed up and _in_ and Scout jerked with his whole body, making a high, needy sound. His hips thrust up and his toes curled reflexively, breath hitching when Medic angled the buzzing vibrator deeper. The tension in his body decreased considerably after that, a by-product Medic had noted several times previously. Speaking from a purely physiological viewpoint, Scout was very well-suited to being fucked.

Breathing was fast and shallow at present, heart rate tolerably accelerated and pulse strong. Medic kept thrusting, upping the rhythm, and when Scout’s mouth fell open to inhale he tugged the chain in his hand.

The collar immediately tightened around Scout’s neck, cutting off his respiratory tract, and Scout gasped uselessly without drawing air. He clawed at the bedding, open-mouthed, and arched slightly off the cot. Medic counted two seconds and released his grip; Scout sank back down and drew in a deep breath, coughing.

“Sehr gut,” Medic murmured. Scout’s neck was long and pale except for the faint red stripe circling it, where the leather had bit in. In times like this he wished he had an assistant at hand, to record his findings with a camera. “Let us try zis again.”

He built a sort of rhythm, cutting off Scout’s breathing at semi-regular intervals, in keeping with his thrusts and the electrical stimulation, which he gradually amplified. Every time Scout would try to take a deep breath, Medic twitched the chain and the collar tightened. In short order Scout began exhibiting signs of disequilibrium and light-headedness, presumably from the lack of oxygen. Symptoms included a rise in the pitch of his voice, involuntary muscular spasms in his hands, and increased perspiration, resulting in a thin sheen of sweat covering his body. His cock was large and flushed, straining against the ring—he was perceptibly nearing his limit.

Medic was fascinated by limits. They were so clearly made to be _pushed_.

When he reached the highest setting on the vibrator, Medic tugged the chain. Scout made another of his small, choked-off noises, and bucked against his hand. Instead of releasing his grip after a few moments, though, Medic tugged tighter, watching Scout struggle for air. His neck was already covered in abrasions, from the hollow of his throat to the sensitive skin under his jaw. Medic began slowly counting under his breath: _eins, zwei, drei..._

Scout’s chest began to heave as he tried to force oxygen into his lungs, nostrils flared in alarm. It was no use; his trachea was securely constricted.

_Vier, fünf, sechs..._

His mouth was open wide, pupils dilated and black, skin damp with sweat. Medic thrust the vibrator in, ruthless, and Scout jerked so hard he nearly unfettered the restrains.

_Sieben, acht, neun..._

Scout was shaking all over now, spine perfectly arched. He was trying to scream without air.

_Zehn._

Medic loosened the slip collar then quickly released the cock ring. Scout inhaled sharply and choked, coming all over himself in thick white spurts.

Several minutes passed.

Scout’s shivering abated incrementally, and his breakneck heart rate returned to normal. It took him a record three minutes to regain voluntary motor functions. The involuntary spasms, Medic was interested to note, lasted much longer—Scout’s fingers kept seizing long after the restraints were unlocked.

His breathing remained ragged for a good while, and his voice had not regained its natural pitch by the time he left the infirmary. Scout’s uniform being casual as it was, the bruises on his neck were highly visible. Medic offered him a bandage to cover the wounds, but was hoarsely rejected.

After Scout had gone, Medic stowed away the slip collar, idly rubbing his thumb over the leather. He wondered how long it would take Scout to recover from the damage to his airways, though it was only superficial. A repeat session might significantly hinder the healing process; on the other hand, it might also help build up cardiovascular stamina. How many repeats would be necessary in order to escalate the damage from acute to irreparable?

Medic smartly uncapped his pen and began to write. Perhaps he ought to explore the subject further. These were questions which begged to be answered—for the sake of science, if nothing else.


	3. EXPERIMENT NO.003

Their next session was long in coming. Shortly after Medic finished compiling the data from the previous experiment, the team underwent another increase in operative activity which did away with all free time. Medic was kept too busy for anything except work, which was hardly as intellectually engaging as his recreational pursuits. By the time he met Scout again, Medic was not in the best of moods and more than eager to proceed with his schedule.

His temper improved slightly once the restraints were firmly in place and Scout began exhibiting signs of nervous anhelation. There was no need even for a stethoscope to ascertain this, as Scout’s reactions had been extensively documented during past sessions and Medic was familiar with the data. Scout was a predictable creature, consistently displaying acute tenseness and refusing to relax against the examination table. This was a fairly typical physical condition which marked the beginning of their sessions — as was his current shortness of breath. By the end he was never nearly so composed.

Usually Medic didn’t mind Scout’s anxiety, and even made a point of exacerbating it. Regrettably, this time it would have to be dispelled in order to implement his scheduled plans. He hefted the syringe.

Scout’s renewed struggles were still never entirely for show at this stage; today he put up enough of a fight that Medic had to hold him still with a gloved hand pressed hard to his bare chest. When this proved inefficient, Medic decided to integrate a psychological element from their previous session. He moved up and closed his fingers around Scout’s bare neck.

“Hnnghk—” Scout made a choked sound, struggling to wrench free for Medic’s grip. There were still faint markings from last time, not quite faded yet. Medic squeezed harder to watch the abrasions redden a little. Remarkable. He should conduct a follow-up study, if time allowed in the future.

“Today you are required to remain calm,” he said, and Scout made another cut-off sound, this time incredulous. “I vill demand constant supervision, so you must relax. Begin now.”

Another clenching of his fingers, for good measure, and Medic released him. No sense in causing pre-emptive damage, as it might unduly affect his findings.

Scout lay on the examination table, hoarsely sucking in air and trembling everywhere. Medic noted with acute interest that his fingers were twitching, perhaps a muscle-memory of the seizures from their last session. Definitely a case for a follow-up.

He bared Scout’s forearm — somewhat roughly, to still the shivers — and injecting the formula.

Medic could see Scout’s brows furrow in confusion, before his expression gradually melted into lax neutrality and his whole body began loosening. As much as he regretted the missed opportunity to re-calibrate the compounds of his aphrodisiac, this session called for a muscle relaxant. Medic had his own specialized variant on the standard analgesic which the chemist laboratories produced, as did any self-respecting man of medicine. His was notably more potent, which increased the harm in high dosages; however, Medic found the risk of inducing paralysis in his patients invigorating rather than something to be nervous about.

“Whu... hao...” Scout’s tongue was awkward and heavy, fumbling with the vowels. “What’rye doin’?”

“Simply ensuring zere vill be no disruptions,” Medic said briskly. “Today, ve are being most delicate.”

“Sonova...”

“Merely pragmatic.” Medic peered at Scout over the edge of his glasses, unsmiling. “I cannot risk any of your sudden movements, und today neizer can you.”

“Whas’t mean?”

“You shall see.”

Scout groaned, but weakly; already the muscles of his larynx were relaxed to the point which impeded loud noises. Medic generally approved of this development.

The Dittel sounds were long and straight, made of shining stainless steel. Medic unwrapped them from the sterilized packaging with utmost care. His own gloves had been thoroughly sterilized as well, since one could not be careful enough in this setting. Luckily the urinary tract in a healthy specimen like Scout was very likely clean already, and would need no initial preparation for what he had in mind.

Today’s experiment focused on artificially-induced loss of involuntary muscular control. Logic dictated he focus on those muscles charged with the most sensitive involuntary actions, the internal urethral sphincter being a natural choice. Medic looked forward to witnessing Scout’s reactions to the procedure; he had no doubt they would be quite novel.

Indeed, when he turned back to the examination table, Scout stared at the sound with half-lidded eyes, uncomprehending. His lips were parted, the jaw having trouble clenching or closing fully under the effects of the analgesic.

“Wh…” he tried, and Medic could see him stop to reconsider the use of complete sentences. He was likely experiencing gradual difficulty in forming words. “Cock r’ng?”

Medic favoured him with an appraising look. “Not today,” he said. “However, I vill keep your request in mind.”

Scout tried to shake his head, and could only manage a mild swaying motion. Instead, he settled for: “Fuck’r.”

“Hush.” Medic passed an antiseptic wipe over Scout’s flaccid penis, paying special attention to the tip. “You vill now hold perfectly still.”

The sound gleamed under the fluorescent as Medic took it in one hand, the other curled at the base of Scout’s cock. There was no reaction initially, but when Medic neared one to the other Scout’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Wh—” he started, slurring badly. Medic positioned Scout’s cock and touched the straight tip of the Dittel to his slit. “Hah — s-st—”

“Breathe in deep,” Medic commanded, and pressed carefully, carefully. The tip sunk in, just a fraction, and Scout sucked in a breath so fast that Medic could hear it like a rip in the air. He tried to wrench away reflexively, eyes wild, but all that happened was a faint tremor and his right wrist jerking spasmodically. Medic’s formulas were well-known for their efficiency.

“Exhale now,” Medic said, and waited. Scout breathed out, high and wavering. Medic used the opportunity to adjust his grip fingers on the sound again, and let gravity do the rest, drawing it into Scout’s urethra inch by inch.

“Ah,” Scout said, stretching it out: _ahhh_ going on and on, rising as he inhaled shallowly and dropping in pitch as he exhaled, rough and needy, almost a whine. It took eight seconds for the sound to fully sink into the urethra, the metal disappearing down the slit with maddening slowness. Scout had his eyes tightly shut by the end, though his mouth was open and slack. Medic acted on a hunch and twisted the sound, just a fraction; Scout didn’t move but he choked on something suspiciously like a cry.

It had been wise, choosing the 8mm sound, though Medic had itched to try something with a wider circumference. He wished, abstractly, that he could monitor Scout’s breathing and heart rate, though it was impossible to do without letting go of the sound or moving his hand from the base of Scout’s penis, where it was keeping a steadying grip. It was not absolutely essential; best to focus on the subject at this time.

Scout was sweating profusely, some of it already staining the sheets of the examination table where his hips were pressed flat against the surface. His thigh, bicep, neck, and abdominal muscles were all trying to tense but couldn’t, immobilized as they were by the relaxant. The result was a curious effect which left Scout obviously winded, despite the lack of actual movement. Considering the restraints, he could do nothing but let the sensations affect him — something Medic was quite eager to see.

After a moment of letting Scout catch his breath, Medic spoke. “Ve are now at your external urethral sphincter, directly next to your prostate.” It was for his personal satisfaction than Scout’s sake; Medic had been looking forward to this part. “Remember, at all times remain calm.”

“Yeh,” Scout was about to say something else, probably derogatory, but Medic twitched his fingers slightly and Scout made a sound like he’d been punched in the solar plexus.

“Moth’_fu_—ahh...” he gasped, trailing off breathlessly, and when Medic repeated the action he almost writhed.

Intriguing. Medic could see Scout’s fingers, wanting to twist and snarl in the sheets but unable to move. He imagined his toes were similarly attempting to curl, to no effect. Scout began showing signs of arousal, among them flushed colour and the stiffening of his cock. A similar sensory reaction, albeit achieved from a different direction than was customary.

Scout was moaning soft and unsteady, sprawled loose-limbed on his back. Medic began stroking with careful precision, watching keenly. To the untrained eye Scout was completely pliant, but his skin felt feverish, even through Medic’s glove. His chest was rising up and down in what, without the analgesic formula, would likely have been genuine respiratory distress. It fit well with the way his cock was hard in Medic’s hand.

They had almost found a rhythm when Medic decided to proceed, and nudged the sound deeper in. Scout froze.

There was some faint resistance, naturally, but it gave way as the Dittel squeezed past the tight ring of muscle. “Inhale, exhale,” Medic reminded him, but Scout did neither; he stared at Medic with panic in his eyes, nostrils flared in alarm. The sound pressed past the external sphincter — responsible for voluntary actions — and when Medic let it push past the internal sphincter, Scout actually _whimpered_. He squeezed his eyes shut and made a noise like a sob, the tip of his cock was swollen and leaking.

_A model patient_, Medic thought. Scout was now fully conscious, yet helpless in the most comprehensive sense of the word. He was incapable of moving any limb of his body, or even tensing a muscle; if Medic decided to test his gag reflex he couldn’t even close his mouth. Now, with the sound as deep as it would go, he was incapable of controlling his urination. Medic could keep him like this for minutes, hours — even after the relaxant wore off — watching the pressure build until Scout cracked under it. Even his involuntary actions were subject to regulation. He was completely under Medic’s control.

His objective was accomplished. Medic looked at Scout’s expression, open like a bleeding wound, and felt the keen satisfaction of a procedure undergone successfully.

As he withdrew the sound Scout began breathing again, raggedly, as soon as they retreated past the sphincters. Further out and the metal dragged against the prostate again, already sensitized. Scout’s breath hitched then, and the moment Medic removed the sound entirely, he gave a weak cry and ejaculated.

“Excellent,” Medic said, and set aside the sound. He undid the restraints and set about cleaning the work environment, even folding Scout’s clothes in a neat pile on a chair. There was much to be done in the aftermath of the experiment.

He was at his desk and well into the process of documenting his methods when the relaxant wore off sufficiently to allow movement. Scout dragged himself off the examination table and into his clothes, avoiding eye contact. He moved woodenly, fingers clumsy, starting to shake as they regained motor ability. Out of the corner of his eye, Medic clinically noted the long stretch of his neck, faintly bruised; the way he winced when pulling on his pants.

“Mind zat you wait an hour before urinating again,” Medic said, just as Scout was nearly out the door. “Und drink plenty of vater. Zere may be a faint burning sensation; it is to be expected.”

Scout turned to look at him then, and the look on his face surprised even Medic. The only word to describe it was _furious_. Then Scout went out and the door closed behind him, and Medic was left alone with his work.

He picked up his pen again and continued writing. Already, a part of his brain was planning the next experiment. Medic’s fingers itched at the thought: true science, after all, lay in the empirical research.


End file.
